


Brighter than Before

by sunflowersailor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Confessions, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pining, Post-Time Skip, felix is a bit of a disaster pls pray for him, lots of pining good god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowersailor/pseuds/sunflowersailor
Summary: Felix wanders into the darkness, meets a raccoon, trips over a log, gets cold, and has a kiss he’s been waiting for since he was seventeen. Overall, one of his better nights.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	Brighter than Before

It's night two of their assault on the Great Bridge of Myrddin, and Felix finds himself wrestling with sleep instead of something cool, like a leopard or a demonic beast. At least if it was one of those things he could get some experience out of it, and maybe have a good story for some of the starry eyed soldiers in their battalions. He might even be able to make himself a less awkward and more approachable person with a riveting tale such as that, and he wouldn’t even need Annette’s help with the whole “not being standoffish around others” aspect for once.

Not that he even cares about that kind of thing in the first place, though. He’s perfectly content with being non-approachable and prickly, so long as he can hold a weapon. Sylvain is the one who's supposed to be cordial and charming, even if right now his charm has completely flown out the window with how much he’s been kicking Felix in his sleep. 

How many girls had he bedded had received the Gautier special of awful bed sharing manners is what a small—maybe also a little bitter—part of Felix wonders as he shifts against the cold, hard ground for what must be the hundredth time (he stopped counting after thirty because he’s awake, but not awake enough to be petty). His ears are attuned to the sound of wind gently rustling the cramped, canvas tent, along with the light snores of Sylvain—who insisted he’d be more silent than an owl when begging Felix to stay with him, but now sounds more like a baby bear instead.

If the group had just listened to him and walked a little further, they would have reached a town with an inn where they wouldn’t have to suffer broken spines and lack of access to proper facilities. Maybe then, Felix could actually relax. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have to shove Sylvain back to his side every five minutes because the bastard just lives to make his life complicated, even in his sleep. 

But nobody ever listens to Felix about anything. Not about the Death Knight, not about Dimitri, and not about this (which arguably is less important than the Death Knight and Dimitri, but he’s still not quite awake enough to separate the three).

Which means he’s stuck on the ground, in the cold, next to his big, idiot, childhood friend who is way too close for Felix considering that he only recently came to certain conclusions about certain feelings for a certain someone. He’d give you three guesses as to who that someone is, but you’d only need one if you were paying even the slightest bit of attention.

If he was back at Garreg Mach, the solution to putting his mind at ease would be simple. He’d go straight to the training grounds, pick up the sharpest sword he could find, and let his emotions fly off the end with each slash of his blade. Mercedes might suggest something calmer, like drinking a cup of tea or doing deep breathing exercises, but Mercedes’ solutions are for people who are soft, and Felix is  _ not soft _ .

Seeing as he’s not at Garreg Mach and in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, he settles for the next best thing: wander aimlessly in the dark and hope he doesn’t piss off a nocturnal creature while doing so. He can hardly imagine the conversation that would follow between him and Mercedes if he had to be healed. 

Well, he can actually, but it’s not pretty. Mercedes can be scary when she wants to be, even if she is practically an angel on earth.

Using the thief skills he’s now grateful the professor insisted he learn while they were still in school, he deftly undoes the series of knots and buttons to the entrance, keeping quiet the entire time—unlike Sylvain, who has now moved onto making noises similar to a snorting foal.

It’s… actually very endearing, which is very unfortunate for Felix’s heart.

The cool air that kisses him as the flaps give way sends a shiver down his spine, goosebumps dappling his skin almost immediately. He briefly considers grabbing his jacket, and he spares a glance to the corner to see that it’s there… and still blood soaked and wet after the day’s events.

...So it looks like he’s not taking the jacket after all.

This is fine. No really, it is. He’s from  _ Faerghus _ for Sothis’ sake, he knows what real winter is, and this pathetic little chill doesn’t hold a candle to it. He’ll be fine.

(He pointedly tries and subsequently fails to ignore the memories of Sylvain rushing out from the Fraldarius estate to deliver his jacket when he’d cried about it being too cold. They succeed in making his heart warm, but not the rest of his body).

Reclosing the entrance of the tent, Felix twists and straightens into a standing position, his joints aching and yelling at him (did they really have to choose the one area in the whole place with knots in the ground to lie down on?) and squeezes his eyes shut as he stretches out the last of the day’s pains.

When he opens his eyes again, his breath hitches.

The sky is littered with stars, twinkling like thousands of candle lit lanterns dancing through the heavens. The vast ocean of light swirls in the night sky, blending perfectly with the thin, rolling clouds that float lazily by.

Contrary to popular belief, Felix does appreciate more than just the glint of steel of a mighty weapon and the thrill of beating a particularly troublesome foe, and this scene goes on his list of things he’ll remember well past the age people start to forget things, right next to the childhood promise he made with Sylvain.

And just as quickly as Felix has found himself in the awe of the majesty of nature, he’s even quicker to start shaking his head in annoyance, because once again Sylvain’s found a way to worm his way into his thoughts and cuddle nice and cozy right up against the feelings part of Felix’s brain.

Eyeing the tent wearily, Felix exhales out a breath, and decides he’s going to enjoy the tranquility of the night with his head completely empty. There will be no thoughts of red hair, no thoughts of freckled, pale skin, and no thoughts of large, calloused hands that steady him when he’s at his worst. It’s just going to be him, the trees, and the raccoon that’s been eyeing him down from the treeline for the past five minutes—which is only a little unnerving.

Carefully tip-toeing past the other tents is a simple feat. Even in the near darkness, Felix spots every miniscule shadow; there’s not a single stick or rock that escapes his scrutiny. Thank the Goddess for Bernadetta’s impromptu lesson in stealth back in their academy days—without it, Felix would surely be a dead man.

Sneaking around like this brings him back to when he was a mere child, playing hide and seek with Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain. Back then, it was easy to get swept up in whatever Sylvain was saying. Back then, all it took were a few promises through hushed giggles that if they hid together, Sylvain would tell him stories while they waited for the seeker to find them.

Felix still has every crevice of Sylvain’s body mapped out from back then as they’d squish together in the warmth of whatever hidden area in the Fraldarius manor they happened to find. The rhythm of Sylvain’s voice as he regaled tales of knights fighting fearsome beasts, the way he’d run his soft hands through the knots of Felix’s hair absentmindedly as he chattered, the way his heart sped up when his out of his mouth came tumbling the climax of the story—all of these are permanently etched in Felix’s memory.

It’s… nice to think about. Although it’s certainly not doing any favors for Felix’s emotionally constipated heart, it’s still nice to let the nostalgia take hold every once and awhile, just for a moment.

And sometimes, it’s even nicer to imagine what Sylvain would feel like pressed up against him now, after he’s had all this time to grow and develop. How would it feel for his broad chest to be pressed up against his own as they shared a quiet moment in the waning sunlight, tangled in sheets, stealing soft, breathless kisses? How would it feel if Felix could curl up against his warm torso during the harsh Faerghean winters next to a roaring fire? How would it feel to run his hands over freckled skin, to feel the valleys of scars that run down, down his body, past his abs, past his-

Suddenly, the ground seems much closer than it was before.

Oh…  _ oh _ .

Felix is falling.

He’s _literally_ falling for Sylvain, he realizes as his foot makes hard contact with a log he swears wasn’t there just two seconds prior.

If this were a real battle, he absolutely would’ve been dead. Glenn must be rolling in his grave at his incompetent, gay little brother right about now.

Just as quickly as his knees skim the ground he’s back up again, eyes darting around to see if anyone’s gotten out of their tents to check for the noise. Luckily, no one even stirs, not even Dimitri himself—who is far too attuned to the most miniscule sounds than one man should ever be. It occurs to Felix that this is likely because of his five year stint in the middle of Goddess knows where, and it occurs just as quickly that that’s probably a fucked up thing to think, and he should probably focus on something else.

He decides to let his thoughts settle on whether he should be relieved or annoyed at the lack of attention to a sudden, unidentified sound—wasn’t Ashe supposed to be keeping watch or something?—when a rustling from the trees grabs hold of his ears and draws his attention upward. 

It’s probably an enemy ambush, waiting to catch them off guard.

Another round of rustling and a chittering noise reveals that it’s not an enemy ambush, as it turns out. In fact, it’s so far off from one that he has to suppress a sigh at his own absurd, paranoid thoughts.

If this were an opera show, the lights would dim, and the curtain would open to reveal the worst culprit in the history of operas: the damn raccoon is the one who made the noise.

It’s still staring at him, probably soaking in his humiliation.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

The raccoon does not respond as it is a raccoon, but Felix can imagine those beady little eyes and the judgement they hold. It’s definitely laughing at him internally, mocking him because he was distracted  _ once again _ by more than friendly thoughts about his best friend. And the log must've been some sort of instrument of divine punishment from the Goddess herself, reminding Felix that he should be focusing on the beauty of nature rather than the chiseled abs of another man.

(In his defense, Sylvain’s abs are some of the best out there. And he's definitely not biased).

And of course, because the night is already going down hill with the speed of a boulder that’s been forcibly pushed off of a cliff, the wind just has to pick up at that moment, and it too is mocking him for not having a usable jacket so he freezes his ass off in the dark.

This walk was supposed to clear his head, and all it’s done is make it thick with fog, which means it’s well past time to walk back to his tent, lay back down, and count sheep or drink milk or whatever stupid thing you’re supposed to do when you can’t sleep that he should’ve just done in the first place.

He quickly turns on his heel, and immediately runs face first into something solid.

No, not something… someone. Someone, who should be thanking the Goddess Felix knows he wasn’t an enemy right away, or he’d be dead where he stands.

“Felix? So it was you.” Sylvain breathes out something sounding a lot like a sigh of relief.

Felix pulls away, rubs his aching nose—Goddess above, Sylvain really is built like a tree, this is  _ so _ not good for his heart—and huffs. “You could’ve said something.”

Sylvain has the good grace to look sheepish. “I was debating on it, but I figured scaring you would probably lead to my death.”

And dammit, of course he just has to know what Felix was thinking, as he always seems to. It’s almost like they’ve been friends their whole lives or something. 

“I guess you have a point,” he begrudgingly concedes. “Anyway, I was just about to head back. There was no need to bring yourself out here for me.”

He’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make his insides warm though. Not that he’d ever tell that to Sylvain. 

“But of course I had to. You left without your jacket, Felix. Aren’t you cold?”

It really shouldn’t be as infuriating as it is that Sylvain cares about him this much, but Felix’s competency with processing romantic feelings is on nearly the same level as his competency with using bows, so it is. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

The stars must’ve aligned for the purpose of making Felix’s life frustrating, because the very next thing that happens—the shitty, rotten cherry on top of the night’s disasters—is the wind whipping up a storm, making Felix visibly shiver before he can stop himself. Sylvain’s frown only deepens.

“C’mon, Felix,” he says, and  _ oh Goddess oh fuck  _ he’s started to wrap Felix up in his very big, very warm,  _ very nice _ arms—the ones Felix has dreamed of being held by more times than he cares to ever admit. 

It’s _ really _ nice. Too nice. And Felix is two seconds away from having a crisis.

“Sylvain, this really isn’t-”

“Felix, you’re ice cold. This is definitely necessary.”

He’s right of course, the bastard. Sylvain, being a walking heater, feels like a blessing directly from heaven itself to Felix’s frigid skin. 

Felix, already in crisis mode, feels himself combust into a thousand, panicked pieces when Sylvain suddenly begins to sway gently back and forth—a soft smile affixing itself to his features as he begins to form a slow rhythm. 

If Felix were any less of an incoherent mess of feelings, this might actually feel pleasant. It might feel good to let himself get lost in Sylvain’s steady, comforting rhythm, to let himself melt into Sylvain’s arms, against his broad chest. It might even be okay to lean his head on his sturdy shoulder, to hear nothing but the wind as it whistles it’s harsh melody into the never ending night sky. And if he were particularly brave, he could even reach his hand up and cup Sylvain’s cheek, rub his thumb across his jaw, and lean forward to give him a chaste kiss on his lips.

Oh, if only he wasn’t a human disaster with unresolved romantic tension, this could be one of his favorite memories.

Eventually, the wind finally dies down, and they’re left swaying in a completely silent atmosphere, devoid of any other distractions. It’s just the trees, the ocean of stars, Felix, and Sylvain—whose heart is beating… oddly fast in contrast to the placid atmosphere.

“Sylvain.”

Sylvain pauses for a brief second, and looks down at Felix with a smile that would be lazy if it wasn’t also somewhat pinched at the corners. “Yes, Felix?”

Felix’s seen this smile before, heard the tone of voice that goes with it as well. They’re two weapons in Sylvain’s arsenal that serve the sole purpose of tricking everyone around him into thinking he’s okay. They work on most people, but Felix dons a shield of his own, impervious to false smiles and too-sweet manners of speech.

He’s also not afraid to use his own shield against Sylvain when he needs to. 

“You’re nervous.”

Felix knows he’s correct by the way Sylvain’s breath hitches for a fraction of a second, a blink and you’ll miss it type of deal.

“So I couldn’t hide it from you, huh?”

There’s almost something alarming about the way Sylvain doesn’t try to fight him like he usually does, doesn’t don his mask and build his defenses. Sylvain admitting his vulnerability is like finding a weapon made of Umbral steel—rare, and priceless.

“Why? It’s just me. You don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

Ever so slowly, ever so gradually, Sylvain begins to slow his tempo, until he brings them both to a soft stop. He looks down at Felix again, and his smile melts into something fond with a hint of anxious. The ground beneath Felix’s feet feels like it’s going to give way at any moment with how much apprehension weighs him down. 

"I've got plenty to be nervous about when it comes to you." It's soft, almost impossibly so. Felix almost wonders if he heard correctly.

"Like what?"

Sylvain is quiet for a long moment. The wind picks up a bit and gently tickles the trees. Felix’s blood rushes in his ears as he waits what feels like centuries for Sylvain’s answer.

"Like your smile."

Okay, now Felix has  _ definitely _ heard him wrong.

"My… what?"

Sylvain laughs quietly, but it sounds less jovial and more like he’s having it forced out of him. "I know, it sounds cliche, doesn't it? But it's true. Your smile is nice, Fe. It makes you look handsome."

Out of all the directions Felix was expecting this conversation to go, this one was not even close to one of them. It feels like Sylvain is dragging him through a maze with how many turns this conversation is taking. "But why mine? You never say that about anybody else, not even any of the girls you bed."

Sylvain exhales another laugh. If Felix knew him any less well, he’d miss the nervousness laced in between the low, breathy notes. "You're really gonna make me say it out loud, huh?"

"Say what?"

Another bout of silence is stretched thin between them. The earth's rotation comes to a crawl as Sylvain’s steadily increasing heartbeat becomes the only thing in Felix’s ear.

One beat, two beats, three beats.

"That I'm in love with you."

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

_ Oh _ .

"Oh," is all he manages.

It's never occurred to him that Sylvain could actually share his same feelings. It's never occurred to him that being called "handsome" wasn't just Sylvain being nice, and it's never occurred to him that him being nervous actually had a reason other than general anxiety.

He really, actually, loves Felix.

"Yeah. Sorry, I guess."

It  _ does _ occur to Felix that he's been silent for a bit longer than intended, and he should really, actually fix that right now. 

"No,” he says, a bit too quiet. Then, louder, “Don't, don't apologize. I…"

He tries to build the words up properly at least a hundred times before he remembers that he's always been far better with actions, and he should probably decide to stick with one action before this all completely falls apart.

His action of choice is a small peck that’s supposed to hit Sylvain’s lips but ends up on his chin instead. That raccoon would definitely be laughing out loud at him if he was still here.

"Oh."

Now it's  _ Sylvain’s _ turn to have the  _ oh  _ moment. Is this a thing that happens in romance novels? Felix has never bothered to read any, but he’s sure the moment where all you can say is “oh” is definitely a thing—or if it’s not, it should be.

"Yeah."

A beat of silence, then, "Can we do that again?"

The stars are pretty. And Sylvain is gorgeous with the night sky pooled in his deep, brown eyes—a giddy smile he’s seldom seen since they were barely five feet tall replacing the false one previously there. 

Felix would take the number one spot for biggest fool in all of Fodlan if he turned down this opportunity now.

“Yes.”

Felix has spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining how this kiss would go (don’t ask him about the specifics though, unless you’re actively seeking being verbally ripped apart). But now that’s happening, he’s come to discover a few things.

When Sylvain repositions his arm to steady Felix as he leans down and slowly presses their lips together, there’s no spark of electricity. The heavens don’t open up and shine light down upon the earth, and there’s no chorus of angels there to mark the occasion with a grand performance.

Oddly enough, the closest descriptor Felix can come up with is that it feels like being set on fire—something he’s only experienced once, luckily enough. The warmth starts out slow, languidly meandering it’s way up, consuming every part of him. It gets warmer as Sylvain deepens the kiss and holds him tighter—it burns bright from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair.

When he pulls away for air, the stars are a blur above his head. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy is what drives him back forward hardly less than a second later, crashing their lips together as heat pools in his insides, the only thought swimming around in his desire-addled brain being to  _ get even closer. _

Large, warm hands flow down his back like a waterfall, resting just under the curve of his ass as Sylvain deepens the kiss further. Felix is so lost in his own bliss that it’s only when the tips of his toes are the only things touching the ground that he realizes what’s going on.

“Sylvain,” he pants out as he pulls away, tightening his grip on Sylvain’s waist as he’s lifted further up. “What are you-”

“Easy, Fe, I got you,” Sylvain responds, punctuated with heavy breathing and half lidded eyes that resemble the crescent moon hanging high in the sky. “You trust me, right?”

And Felix does trust him. He’s trusted him since they were children, before he knew that another human being could feel like home.

“I do.”

Even in the low light, he sees as Sylvain’s mouth melts into his signature lazy grin, and his eyes reflect a fondness Felix only sees when he’s taking care of the horses. “Good.”

There’s no other room for discussion as Felix is lifted the rest of the way off of the ground, feeling halfway between heaven and earth as Sylvain’s soft lips trail featherlight kisses against his neck until they land squarely back on his lips. Felix binds his legs around Sylvain’s waist and lets instinct take over—lets Sylvain turn the kiss from soft and sweet to hungry and full of want.

When Felix was seventeen, he had an image of what his first kiss was going to be like. It was going to be with a girl, likely with long, soft hair. Her perfume would choke him, her nails would be too sharp, and he’d be stuck getting lipstick stains off of his lips the morning after.

This kiss is not that. This kiss is something that he saw in his dreams, rather than the image he had procured. 

Felix has never allowed himself to indulge in dreams, though. Indulging in dreams means getting your heart shattered when they don’t come to fruition. It means waking up and remembering your brother isn’t there, and it means waking up and remembering you’re going to marry the wrong person because the right person doesn’t love you like you love them.

But this dream is coming to fruition, because the right person is right here, holding him close, lips full of honey as he kisses him in the low lit sky. Even if not every dream can come true, he’s incredibly lucky this one did.

And maybe it’s just his euphoria clouding his judgement, but when he looks up at the stars again, they almost seem to shine brighter than they ever have before. 

And then, Felix finds the stars are moving downward very fast. Maybe a little too fast.

Oh…  _ oh _ .

He’s falling.  _ Again _ .

Just like Sylvain ruins most things, he ruins this moment by taking a step backward into the same damned log Felix had tripped over just moments prior and falls flat on his ass, taking Felix down with him. They hit the ground with a resounding thud, and Felix actually finds himself being grateful that everyone seems to be in a deep sleep, because he’s not sure how in heaven’s name he’s supposed to explain why he’s sitting on top of Sylvain—whose face is split wide open with a sunshine laced smile as he tries to hold back laughter.

He wants to be annoyed, but it’s hard when said smile is the most dazzling thing he’s ever seen.

Damn Sylvain for being the best thing that’s ever happened to Felix.

“What happened to you having me?” Felix lightly chastises, a growing smile of his own taking over his face.

Sylvain lets a few giggles spill from his lips. “A ‘thank you for not letting me hit the ground, Sylvain’ would have sufficed just fine.”

“I still fell though,” he fires back, completely and utterly petulant.

Sylvain bursts into a small fit of quiet laughter at that, and snakes his arms around Felix’s waist. “You’re so cruel to me, you know that?”

Felix responds by bringing his head forward and meeting Sylvain’s lips with his own. “Still cruel now?” he asks against his mouth, feeling a glimmer of satisfaction when Sylvain smiles even wider.

“Hm, how about one more? Then you’ll be forgiven.”

Felix would love to be as insatiable as he’s accused Sylvain of being in the past, but the moon is already too high in the sky for them to be wasting even a few more hours of the night being indulgent, so Felix swings his leg over Sylvain’s waist to get off of him, then slowly rises upwards. “We need to get back to sleep. C’mon, get up off the ground.”

Sylvain complies, grin still stuck on his face, rising to his feet quickly—almost falling back over as the blood rushes to his head—and grabbing Felix’s hand.

There’s a small part of Felix that mourns the fact that they can’t sit under the sky alight with the twinkle of stars, the perfect backdrop to sharing a kiss, or two, or ten. But they have a war to win, and after that, Felix imagines they’ll be sharing all the kisses they want, whenever they want, night or morning be damned.

And hopefully in the future, there won’t be a single raccoon or log to distract them. He’s had quite enough of nature for one lifetime.

**Author's Note:**

> Plot twist everyone was awake the entire time they were just listening to see if felix and sylvain would get together finally
> 
> Twitter: peachh_boy  
> Tumblr: peachh-boy
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated :>


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